


Weighed Down With Anchors

by eshtenirwins



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eshtenirwins/pseuds/eshtenirwins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Failure, weakness, and a lack of faith in himself, Stiles has cast his own anchors.  And while werewolves need anchors to keep themselves human, humans are far more likely to sink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weighed Down With Anchors

**Author's Note:**

> General Warnings: Language, sexual situations, probably a good amount of sappy best bro moments, and spoilers up to 2x09. These events are meant to take place between where 2x09 leaves off and 2x10 begins.

If Stiles were to have an anchor, it might be the extent to which he feels like a failure.  Equal parts strength and kryptonite, it’d be the one thing binding and reminding him just how human he really is.  Of course, Stiles doesn’t really need an anchor.  Not in the way Scott and Derek do, and not in the way Derek’s been drilling the pack to find theirs, either.  He’s not a werewolf, nor is he any other supernatural being.  Lately, in fact, he doesn’t really feel like he’s much of anything at all.

He’s pretty sure nobody expects him to be, either.  Being the small, scrawny sixteen year old from Beacon Hills who’s nothing but a second string lacrosse player and one more sarcastic comment away from yet another detention, why would anybody expect anything more from him?  He’s in love with an egotistical whack job who doesn’t accept herself for who she is and has never given him the time of day, his werewolf best friend has far more pressing matters than to have to worry about Stiles’ issues on top of everything else going on, and his father has lost everything in the world that matters to him, including the son he was maybe once proud of.

When he first got caught up in this, things felt a lot less like reality than they do now.  He and Scott were just two kids thrown into something that neither of them had wanted or asked for, and it’s hard to believe how much can change in a few short months.  Stiles has always been someone that Scott could confide in; someone who would take all of this werewolf bullshit seriously against all odds and get him through it by helping him learn to control it and try to take down the bad guys; like Batman and Robin, he once even joked.  _Because that’s what best friends do._   But now that it’s not an issue anymore, now that Scott is more than capable of handling himself, what good is Stiles to Scott if at all?  Not only is Scott a fully capable werewolf, but he’s got a fully capable pack of other werewolves to back him up.  Even his—er—sort-of girlfriend has more to offer than Stiles ever could.  Not only is Allison a hunter, but she’s also scary good with a cross-bow and anything but average.  Not like Stiles, who is weak, becoming weaker.  He and Scott were forced to grow up so fast that sometimes it seems like it happened overnight, and maybe Stiles wasn’t really ready to grow up at all.

In a lot of ways, failure truly is his anchor.  Failure, weakness, and an overall lack of faith in himself that holds him back from recognizing his strengths.  His own father was fired _because_ of him.  Because of his carelessness.  Because while he thought he was being useful and helping his friends, he wasn’t thinking about how he may hurt others in the process.  Besides Scott, his father is the only solid thing in his life, and right now both relationships feel like they’re crashing through rocky waters.  He hates himself so much for causing this; for being the reason his father lost the job that he’s had since before Stiles was even an idea.  It was his one passion in life, besides Stiles’ mom, and now he doesn’t have either of them.  The only thing he does have is even more of a reason to drown himself in whiskey late at night while he thinks about how terribly he misses his wife, and where he went so wrong in raising his reckless idiot of a son.  So maybe when Stiles thinks about it, he really wonders whether or not the world would have been better off without him. 

What is it that people see when they look at him, anyway?  He’s a hyperactive teenager who overall is a smart kid but lacks potential otherwise.  He’s the delinquent trouble-maker son of the used-to-be Sheriff with a hint of an attitude and a spitfire of snarky remarks to cover up everything painful that he’s ever felt in his life.  And he’s positive that people look at him and think _it’s probably because of his mother dying that he turned out like this._   _Such a shame old Sheriff Stilinski couldn’t keep him from losing his way._

He could talk about it if he really wanted to.  Hell, Scott’s even asked him straight out if something’s been bothering him, and what was his response?  _I’m fine_.  Of course nothing’s wrong.  Or maybe everything’s wrong.  But maybe Stiles is so scared to freaking death of talking about actual emotions that it’s just so much easier to shake his head no and put on a smile.  Make a joke, keep it light-hearted, and for God’s sake he can’t let his best friend know how badly he’s hurting inside.  Don’t they have enough to deal with right now without Stiles spiraling out of control too?  But Scott knows, and Stiles knows that.  He doesn’t press, doesn’t want to push Stiles to talk about anything if he’s not ready to, and that’s just how Scott is.  It’s just that right now, Stiles could maybe use that extra shove.

—-

The night is ominous, to say the least.  The moon is full, filling the sky with a brilliant but menacing glow while an eerie fog wisps through the air.  Stiles’ jeep is pulled over to the side of the road near a quiet stretch of forest, far away from any commotion.  It’s _Matt_.  Matt’s been the one controlling Jackson this entire time, for crazy psycho reasons that Stiles can’t even begin to comprehend.  He’s never liked the guy, and now he’s gone from slightly creepy Allison stalker to freaking homicidal keeper of the town’s resident were-lizard.

Stiles turns to Scott, breaking the heavy silence that’s fallen between them as the reality of the situation begins to sink in.  “Well we’ve learned one thing tonight, which is that I am a freakishly accurate judge of character, and everyone needs to start listening to everything I say ever.  Because apparently where your super keen werewolf instincts are lacking, I make up for with my human ones.”

Scott glares at him, nodding in vague acknowledgement.  He’s distracted, that much is clear, and Stiles imagines that between the insistent itch of the full moon along with trying to wrap his mind around everything that’s happened, he’s having a hard time concentrating at all.

“I just can’t believe this.” Scott says, allowing his head to fall back against the seat.  “Matt’s never exactly been my favorite person either but I just never– _God_ and I even convinced Allison to go out with him.  People are in trouble here and I don’t know… I don’t think I can protect anyone anymore.  What the hell are we supposed to do here?”

Scott has always been fiercely loyal when it comes to the people he loves.  It’s a character trait that they’ve always shared, and probably one that bonded them so well to begin with.  But he sounds so broken now; so worried and confused and helpless which just plain _sucks_ because there’s nothing Stiles can do to fix that.  The fact of the matter is that he feels nothing short of useless at this point.  He can’t save anybody.  Not Lydia, not Scott, not his dad.  He can’t even save himself.                                                 

“I just—I don’t _know_ , okay?  Derek’s not answering your phone calls– which by the way is a whole separate side-note we should probably be concerned about considering that voicemail he left you.  Lydia’s MIA, Allison’s gone too, Matt and Godzilla straight up disappeared on us, and here _we_ are, sitting on the freaking side of the road trying to control something that I really don’t think we’re capable of controlling anymore, Scott.”

His resolve is slipping fast, that’s for sure.  He can’t do this anymore.  He can’t keep building walls and burying fears when this has finally gotten too big for the two of them to handle on their own.  And it’s pretty clear just by putting everything into perspective; they certainly are on their own.  He feels so miniscule all of a sudden.  So weak and inferior and like maybe at one point he was strong enough to do this but he just _can’t_ anymore.  There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t seem to swallow as he blinks back the tears welling up in his eyes.  He leans forward against the steering wheel, resting his head against it and taking a deep breath.

Now’s _not_ the time to break down, he tells himself.  He refuses to let that happen.  Not here, not now, not when Scott needs him to be strong.  He needs to put his game face on, get ready for whatever the hell their next plan is, and he needs to be ready to fight this right there beside Scott.  _Because that’s what best friends do_.  That’s what you do for the people you care about. 

“Stiles, hey—“ Scott says, voice almost quiet as a whisper.  He squeezes Stiles’ shoulder gently, just letting him know he’s there, and if nothing else it’s at least comforting.  “—S’okay, buddy,” Scott tells him, “it’s gonna be fine.”

Stiles thinks he just might be crazy enough to believe him.

“I’m okay,” he says, lifting his head up and turning toward Scott.  “Everything’s fine.  It’s cool, dude.  Seriously.”

Scott raises an eyebrow, shakes his head like he’s far from being convinced. “You wanna try telling that to someone who maybe doesn’t know you as well as I do?”

Stiles laughs and it comes out kind of awkward and shaky, because he knows Scott’s right.  Scott’s known this entire time that Stiles has been hanging from a fraying thread.  Lying is the one thing they’ve never been able to pull over on one another.

“You know, I think you’ve kind of become my voice of reason so much lately, that I forget how sometimes you need me to be the same for you.”

“Like being each other’s own personal Yoda?” Stiles grins, watching Scott’s mouth curve into a small smile as he chuckles and rolls his eyes.  It’s a reference he’s used more than once, and it’s still funny in that recurring inside joke kind of way.  Especially since Scott reacts the same way every single time.

“ _Yeah_ Stiles, like being each other’s own personal Yoda.  With what advice, give can I?”

Stiles makes a face, shaking his head disdainfully.  “Leave Yoda speak to me, you must.  Because embarrassing yourself, you _are._ ”

“Hey _,_ do you want my help or not?” Scott asks incredulously, whacking Stiles across his arm.  Stiles shoulders away from him, frowning.

“Not if you’re going to hit me again.”

“I’m not going to hit you again,” Scott runs his hand gently over the same spot on Stiles’ arm.  “See?  Now come on, talk to me.”

It’s an odd dynamic change to have Scott asking Stiles to open up like this.  Stiles can be emotional at the worst of times too, but it’s a very rare occasion that he ever outwardly show it.  It comes out in anger, humor, and probably a million other ways besides the most obvious.

“I don’t know if you’re asking me to dive into the depths of my soul here, and I don’t really want to do that.  But it’s not—“ He pauses, trying to collect his thoughts and keep the words from getting jumbled.  “—I guess I don’t want you to think I’ve been avoiding talking to you about this.  It’s just that I feel like I’m letting people down—Like I’m _always_ letting people down, no matter what I do.  It just sucks so freaking badly because I hate that feeling.  I hate disappointing people and dammit Scott, I feel like that’s all I’m good for anymore.”

“Is that really what you think about yourself?  That you’re just a disappointment to everybody?”

Stiles turns away from him, swallowing hard as he stares at the steering wheel and tries to focus on _anything_ other than Scott’s face.  To hear that repeated back to him aloud is far more disconcerting than when it was just a thought in his head.  Because yeah, that is _absolutely_ what he thinks.  Stiles wants to answer him, but his throat feels too dry and the words just aren’t there, and after a few short moments Scott is talking again.

“Stiles, let me tell you something.  A few months ago something really bad happened to me.  Something terrifying, that should have been pretty damn impossible, that turned my entire world upside-down and probably changed my life forever.  The only person who I knew I could count on… and who I knew would help me figure out what the hell was happening to me, was you.  Do you know how many people in this world would seriously reach the conclusion that their best friend’s problem was that they were turning into a werewolf?  Because I actually think you’re the only one crazy enough to figure out something like that.”

Stiles laughs, a smug grin spreading over on his face.  “Yeah, you bet your ass I am.  Thank God for my impeccable instincts and highly intelligent open-mindedness.”

“I’m serious, okay?  I just don’t think I’d still be here if it weren’t for you,” Scott adds.  “You never gave up on me, you never ran away from any of this… I mean, God, it’s a full moon right now and we’re sitting together having this conversation because _you_ helped me learn to control myself.  I know you’re caught up in a lot right now.  I know you’re afraid of your dad getting hurt, and I know you’re sick to death of being in the middle of Jackson and hunters and werewolves and whatever the hell else.  But I just—I couldn’t have done any of this without you. And you need to know that.  So whoever you feel like you’re disappointing, just know that you’ve never let me down.”

They’re both quiet after that, as Stiles soaks in Scott’s words.  He looks over at Scott, a warm fondness spreading through him at the sight of the boy sitting beside him.  They’re not too often the spill-your-guts or heart-to-heart type of friends, but just knowing that Scott thinks those things—it definitely helps.  He’s not needy by a long shot, but knowing he’s appreciated doesn’t hurt, either.

“I guess you’re lucky I’m sticking around to keep protecting your little werewolf ass,” Stiles says, face plastered with a haughty half-smile. 

“Yeah, I guess I am.  Even though you can kind of be a dick.”

“Oh, is that what we’re doing now?  Big bad wolf taking low blows at his best friend without whom he’d probably be six feet under in his werewolf grave right now?  Yeah, that’s right.  I’d watch yourself if I were you, buddy.”

“Yeah, whatever.  It’s comforting to know you haven’t gotten too cocky or anything,” Scott says, and Stiles can see him glaring from the corner of his eye.  He’s smiling though, and Stiles leans over to squeeze Scott’s shoulder this time, something that Scott should easily recognize as _thank you._

“Should we hug or something?  To make this whole moment between us even more memorable?” Stiles gestures between the two of them and shrugs, and then Scott’s actually leaning forward like he’s going to do just that.  Stiles decides to humor the situation; is about to pull Scott into a bone crushing hug when at the last second Scott tilts his head to the side and presses their lips together instead.

Stiles realizes he must have gasped, because that’s definitely Scott’s tongue in his mouth sliding against his, and at some point he must have started kissing back and oh my _God_ what in the holy hell are they doing?  It’s a kiss, that’s for damn sure.  Scott’s mouth is warm and eagerly pliant under Stiles’ lips as he lets them do just about everything his mind is telling them not to.  They kiss off beat and open mouthed for several moments longer until Scott pulls back suddenly, almost panting as he blinks away the unobtrusive flicker of golden-yellow that flashes quickly through his eyes.

Stiles stares blankly at him, mouth still hanging open with the lingering feeling of having just been _really_ fucking made-out with… by his best friend.  By Scott.  By Scott, who is his best friend.  Which brings him back to _what in the holy hell are they doing?_ He’s trying to think of something— _anything_ —to say right now, but naturally when he actually needs to come up with something clever, his mind’s got absolutely less than nothing.

“Hey Scott… I know I’m generally the one who breaks the silence in awkward situations, but I really _really_ think I would benefit more from you saying something right about now.”

Scott’s got his head in his heads, still trying to steady his breathing when he finally brings himself to look at Stiles again.  He looks kind of wrecked, if Stiles had to come up with a word to describe it, and Stiles settles on the conclusion that this definitely has to do with the full moon. And for all he knows it could be another side effect of Lydia’s cocktail, too.

“I don’t feel right,” is all Scott brings himself to say.  He squeezes his eyes shut and winces like he’s in pain, burying his head further in his hands with a muffled groan and yeah—that’s definitely the full moon.  Sometimes Stiles gets tired of being right about everything.

“Hey, Scott, hey.  Are you with me here?” Stiles asks, putting a hand on his shoulder.  “Are you okay?  Are you turning?  Are you going to kill me… kiss me again… maybe both?  Although I kind of prefer it not be the first one—“

“Please shut up,” Scott groans, finally opening his eyes again. 

“Well if nothing else, it’s good to know my concern for your well-being is always appreciated,” Stiles deadpans, raising an eyebrow when Scott glares at him.

“I’m sorry—I don’t—I just… you were right there and my mind was telling me to do it and so I did it.  I don’t know why I did it, but I did.”

“Because I’m cursed with impossibly good looks and irresistible charm,” he shrugs.  “What can I say?”

“Stiles—“ Scott’s looking at him too seriously right now, and that’s kind of a scary thing.  When Stiles thinks of Scott, the first picture in his head is of him smiling and curled over in laughter over something stupid that Stiles had said.  Not this.  Whatever this is, Stiles thinks it isn’t really something to laugh about.  “—Listen…  I don’t know what’s going to happen from here.  With anything, I mean.  And I just need you to know that I care about you.  I’m lucky, just, to have someone there for me the way you are.  And I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be saying—er, doing—all of this if the moon wasn’t messing with my head so badly but… still.  I do.”

“I—you know I do too,” Stiles says, surprised at how small his own voice sounds.  He wants to say more, but dammit _,_ why the hell can’t he find the words tonight?  They probably wouldn’t do the situation justice by any stretch, because Stiles imagines there are very few words that can express how much he really does care about Scott.  He just hopes that Scott knows that.  “I really do,” he ends up saying, and hopefully that’s enough.  “I do however think we might have to re-accustom you to how platonic affection is shown in everyday situations.”

Scott laughs at that—thank _God_ he laughs—but there’s still something off about his demeanor.  He’s uncomfortable, and Stiles wonders how in God’s name he was triggered so unexpectedly. Scott sighs before asking, “Can I tell you something?”

 “You just had your tongue in my mouth, Scott.  You can tell me anything.”

“It’s just that it’s not the first time I’ve thought about it.  Stiles, _every_ full moon, I think about it.  So much that I’m starting to think about it all the freaking time now.  And at first I thought it was just like a weird ass side effect but now I’m not so sure.”

Jesus Christ, does he mean what Stiles thinks he means?  Because that’s definitely a confession he’s not exactly sure what to do with, as well as one that he never would have expected.  He feels light-headed, at the very least.

“Wait, you think about me?  Like, you _and_ me?  And it’s just something you what—failed to mention until now?  Don’t you think that’s maybe a piece of knowledge that I probably should have been aware of, too?  You should have _told_ me, Scott.”

“I _am_ telling you,” Scott says, and it’s obvious that he’s becoming frustrated.  “But being here, alone with you now—it’s a full moon and I’m feeling it more which is making me crazy but I just—I’m telling you how much I need you, okay?  And I’m grateful that you’re there for me even when maybe I don’t deserve it.  Allison may be an anchor for me, but she isn’t the only one.  You’re the one keeping me strong.  You’re the reason I’m still _me_ through all of this _._ ”

He doesn’t even know what happens after that.  He doesn’t know how it happens, what the hell he’s thinking, or if he’s even thinking at all.  All he knows is that he’s kissing Scott again, and this time it’s rough and kind of sloppy and Scott’s licking into his mouth again and it’s not like anything he’s ever felt before.  Scott tries to pull him closer, tugging him toward the passenger’s seat and getting his shirt caught on the jeep’s gear shift.  Stiles flinches as it shoves into his side.

“ _Ouch_ , God— _And_ now I’m stuck,” Stiles says, irritated as he reaches around to untangle himself.  He feels Scott’s hands brush against his to help get his shirt free, and he imagines that the sudden tightness in his chest is hardly a coincidence.  Scott pulls Stiles’ shirt up over the gear, lets his fingers trace over the skin under its soft fabric.  Stiles slides over the rest of the way until he’s hovering over Scott, knees on either side of his waist. 

When their eyes meet again, Stiles’ feels his stomach twist in a way that he never really expected Scott could cause.  He’s apprehensive; still stuck somewhere between processing Scott’s words and keeping up with the conflicting thoughts buzzing around in his head.  But then Scott’s trailing his hands back down Stiles’ skin, brings them up around his neck to pull him closer, and suddenly there doesn’t seem to be anything left to think about.  They’re kissing again, and things become a whole lot less conflicting.

Kissing Scott is probably something Stiles never would have expected to map out so quickly, but he figures it’s kind of a lot like breathing—except with more lips and tongue and maneuvering involved.  Or maybe it’s like riding a bike.  Once you figure it out, you’re _definitely_ not going to forget it.  Stiles hasn’t ridden a bike in a long time, and he kind of thinks this is something he’d like to make a more frequent habit than bike-riding, anyway.

He’s thought about it before, maybe once or twice.  What would it be like to kiss a guy? What would it be like to kiss Scott?  He’s wanted to do it on several occasions… just catch him off guard, keep it quick and just feel it out, especially on nights when they’ve been drinking and Stiles is too far gone to think straight.  Pun not necessarily intended.

It’s nothing like what he’s thought about, though.  Scott’s mouth is hot against his and his lips are soft, and his kisses are kind of rough with just enough pressure to make Stiles’ head spin.  Their tongues keep tangling together and there’s no real rhythm to it; just the push and pull of bruised lips and open mouthed kisses.  If Stiles had to choose between kissing Scott, riding a bike, or breathing—right now he’s definitely sticking with kissing Scott.

Stiles can’t remember the last time he’s been able to just not think.  It’s always something; always putting together pieces of a puzzle or elaborating a plan or worrying about his dad or trying to figure out a way to generally just keep himself and his friends alive.  But right now, all of those constant worries couldn’t be further from his mind.  Scott curls his hands around the collar of Stiles’ open button-down, sliding it over his shoulders and tossing it haphazardly into the back seat. His hands slide down Stiles’ back again, pushing them under his t-shirt and grabbing his waist.  Stiles lets himself be pulled closer under Scott’s lead, and Jesus Christ, kissing just isn’t cutting it anymore.

He’s not exactly a pro under these circumstances, a little bit hesitant on trying anything—and for the love of _God_ he doesn’t know what the hell he’s even supposed to be doing with his hands.  He settles with wrapping one around the back of Scott’s neck, fingers curling over the soft skin there, and when Scott tilts his head into it and deepens the kiss even more, Stiles decides that was probably a good move.  He catches his other hand around Scott’s jacket, tugging it down over his shoulders as Scott moves forward to help him get it off.  Their bodies are pressed together, Scott’s hips pushing forward just enough that Stiles is starting to feel it.  He pulls back from the kiss reluctantly, lips tingling and eyes glazed over as he stares at Scott.  He notes the obvious flush in his cheeks and the way his mouth is spit-slick and just slightly swollen, feeling an odd sense of pride knowing that _he’s_ the reason why.  He doesn’t know what Scott wants or what’s okay or if it’s even okay that he wants any of this in the first place, but he does know that right now, he really doesn’t care.

“Stiles—“ Scott’s voice is thick, and the look in his eyes is more wolf-like than Stiles thinks he’s even seen before.  And yeah, there’s gotta be some kind of irony to that.  He’s panting, just fucking staring at him like he’s never wanted something so bad and maybe Stiles doesn’t know anything about his entire life anymore, but he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything this badly either.

Stiles makes a decision for both of them then, reaching down to pull the lever on the passenger seat, pushing Scott backwards until the seat is reclined and he’s lying on top of him.  He’s passed the point of taking it slow, goes right for Scott’s neck and drags his tongue across the skin there, feeling sparks shoot through his entire body when Scott moans.  Scott must be passed hesitancy too, because his hand brushes across Stiles’ hip, teasing along the waistband of his jeans and Stiles is pretty positive he’s never been so turned on in his life.  A few seconds later and Scott’s flipping them over, hovering down over Stiles’ body, and he’s not going to lie—being manhandled isn’t terrible.  The windows have fogged up considerably, and if his mind was working properly he’d probably make a very corny and overused Titanic reference.

Scott kisses his mouth once, drags his tongue down his neck and sucks there, and Stiles is so fucking hard now that it’s actually starting to hurt.  Scott keeps sucking light and teasing against his skin, scraping lightly over his shoulder with his teeth before he bites down.  It’s not too hard, hurts just enough to be a _very_ good thing and Stiles moans and jerks his hips before he can even try to stop himself.

“Feels good, huh?” Scott whispers against his ear, fingers tracing up and down his side.  Stiles wonders if he’s actually expected to answer.

“No—it feels awful,” Stiles says, his voice breathy and shallow.  “Now’s not— _ah_ , God—not really the time for stupid questions, dumbass.”

Scott doesn’t answer; just smirks down at him and moves back to his mouth to tug his bottom lip between his teeth.  And the biting is—oh my _God_ , it feels good.  Definitely something Stiles never really thought about.  Also definitely something that he’s going to be thinking about for a long time after this.  He does it back, nipping at Scott’s mouth and just barely grazing his teeth over his bottom lip, and then Scott’s breathing heavier and swallowing Stiles’ lips in another hungry kiss.

It takes a few seconds after Scott unbuttons Stiles’ jeans for his mind to catch up with what’s actually happening.  And maybe if it were anybody besides Scott, he’d be telling them to stop—at least if this were considered a first date.  Then again, Stiles has little to nothing to compare this situation to in his everyday life, and he figures the biggest difference is that this is _Scott_ and there’s nobody in the world that knows him better, and nobody he’d ever trust more.  And maybe it’s also that his dick is doing the majority of his thinking right now, but if he doesn’t get out of these fucking jeans there’s going to be far more pressing matters to worry about.  He figures this would be closer to their—how long have they been friends now?  It’s probably closer to their four thousand three hundred and eighty-seventh date, if Stiles had to guess.  So really, they’ve taken their sweet time.

Scott pulls back from the kiss and stares at him, like maybe he’s asking for permission or if this is okay, and Stiles nods, moving his hands to rest them on Scott’s hips before undoing his jeans, too.  He pushes them down over Scott’s ass as Scott unzips Stiles’ the rest of the way, lifting his waist to help him wiggle them down his legs.  They’re not completely off, kind of lingering awkwardly around his thighs, but then Scott’s pressing their bodies together again and he can feel it through the thin layers of fabric between them how hard Scott is. 

He slides his fingertips underneath Scott’s shirt and up his back, pressing into his skin and sinking in lightly as Scott works his hips down against Stiles’.  Scott’s head drops down to the crook of Stiles’ neck as he matches the motion and rocks his hips back upward, breathing hot little puffs of air into his skin.  It might be Scott’s labored breathing, or maybe it’s his soft, needy moans in Stiles’ ear, but it’s doing a whole lot of nothing to appease how badly Stiles’ cock is throbbing.

He tilts his head to the side, parting his lips and catching Scott’s in another needy kiss.  Scott’s rolling his hips down harder against Stiles’, kissing him roughly and more quickly to match the rhythm that they’ve built, and Stiles doesn’t think he can take it much longer.  He reaches down between their bodies, needs just a _little_ something more, and when he slides his hand beneath his boxers for some relief, he doesn’t expect to feel Scott’s hand trailing behind and pushing his away.

“Oh—my— _God_ ” Stiles groans and it comes out unabashedly loud, because that’s _definitely_ Scott’s hand around his cock and holy God it feels so good.  Somewhere in his mind, he still can’t believe they’re doing this—can’t believe he’s _letting_ Scott do this—but it just feels too fucking good to be a bad thing and then Scott’s pumping him in his fist; not too fast with just enough pressure, and Stiles is _close._ His head falls back against the cushion of the seat, mouth hanging open as he lets out another shameless moan.  Scott tightens his grip, twists his wrist just right as he presses his mouth to Stiles’ neck and bites down.

Honest to fucking God, that pretty much does it right there.   Scott’s teeth are dragging over his skin, hands working his cock harder and more quickly, and Stiles feels it burning through every inch of his body as he starts to let go.  The moan gets caught in his throat as his hips jerk forward against Scott’s wrist, and then Scott’s tongue is in his mouth and their lips are pushing together again and that’s all it takes before he’s coming in thick spurts over Scott’s hand.

It’s nothing like he’s felt before, getting off with someone else.  And of all the times he imagined this moment, he never thought it’d be in the cramped passenger seat of his jeep with his best friend.   He feels absolutely spent, but still probably a thousand times better than he has in a long time, and he’s almost too elated to realize when Scott starts thrusting his hips down against him.  They’re not really kissing anymore, Stiles trying to catch his breath as Scott pants against his open mouth, and when he grinds his hips down harder Stiles wonders briefly about the likelihood of getting hard again.

He knows right away when Scott’s coming, between the deep groan in his throat to the heavy, offbeat jerk of his hips.  He opens his eyes and Stiles sees that same flash of golden-yellow staring back at him, making his stomach twist with a craving that he can’t even begin to figure out.  He slides his hands from Scott’s waist down to his hips, holding him through it and hoping that next time they’re in this position, he’ll be far less hesitant and a lot more useful.  And—wait, should he really be thinking about there being a next time?

It seems like a lifetime goes by after that, while they remain sprawled out in the passenger’s seat with Scott still lying half on top of Stiles’ body.  When Stiles thinks he’s finally regained control of himself he leans forward to reach for the seat’s lever, pulling it back to its normal height and earning a grunt of dissatisfaction from Scott.  He feels sticky and sweaty and like in retrospect he would have opted to do a few things differently; such as not coming in his boxers like a twelve year old, for starters.  He scooches out from under Scott, lifting his hips to pull his jeans back on properly.  He sees Scott’s black jacket lying in a rumpled ball in the driver’s seat where it must have landed, and grabs it to give back to him.

“I think this belongs to you,” he says, slapping it against Scott’s chest.  Scott doesn’t bother putting it back on, tucking it down next to him on the seat before zipping up and buttoning his jeans.  “Now where in the hell—“ Stiles trails off, leaning half-way into the back seat awkwardly as he feels around for his button-down shirt.  “My God, when you threw this did it land in the Twilight Zone?”

“It kind of feels like that’s where we are right now, anyway,” Scott says pointedly, and Stiles can’t be sure what exactly that’s supposed to mean.

He finally catches his hand on the shirt that somehow made its way just slightly under the back of the driver’s seat.  “Got it!” he huffs out, pulling it up and shrugging it back over his shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkles as best he can.  He shuffles back into the driver’s seat before turning back to look at Scott.  “Okay, are you going to keep making cryptic comments and pretending I can’t hear you, or are you actually going to tell me what you’re thinking?”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that.  I just—“ Scott throws his arms up and shrugs.  “—The full moon kind of…  Even now, _obviously_ it still has some kind of effect on me.  I guess it brings out the worst in me, so I’m sorry—“

“More like it brings out the wolf in you,” Stiles interrupts, a wide grin plastered over his face.  Scott glares at him, and he’s not exactly laughing.

“Oh _come_ on! Werewolf, full moon, brings out your inner wolf—that was funny.”

“If you have to explain why it was funny then it _probably_ wasn’t that funny.”

Stiles stares at him for a second before shrugging and rolling his eyes.  “ _Yeah_ well, after your hand’s been on my dick I can pretty much say whatever the hell I want and you should probably just humor me for the sake of our friendship.”

Scott sighs, but ignores the remark as he continues.  “Look, I’m sorry if that was—I just hope it wasn’t like—Uh, _God_ I’m so bad at this.  I just don’t want things to be awkward and I hope you didn’t feel like you had to do that.”

Stiles is surprised by that, because how can Scott possibly think Stiles didn’t want to?  There were no red flags going up, no S.O.S signals being shot into the air, and Stiles thinks that much should have been clear from the moment he shoved his tongue into Scott’s mouth.

“You know, it takes two to tango, buddy.  There’s a pretty distinct line between kissing you and yelling at you to get your filthy paws off of me.  You do owe me dinner and a movie, though.  Your treat.”

“I think that’s fair,” Scott says under a breathy laugh.  “You’re really not mad?”

“Mad is the least of my feelings right now, Scott.  Just trust me on that,” Stiles says, offering a smile, and it really couldn’t be truer. 

Of all the things he’s feeling, and of all the things he’s thinking, anger is not even registering.  He’s confused, uncertain, and he doesn’t have a damn clue what this means or if it even means anything.  Maybe it’s just a full moon thing, or maybe Scott wants it to be more—or maybe Stiles just hopes that _maybe_ he does.  And there’s some guilt there too, because what the hell?  Scott still has Allison and Allison’s his friend too and wasn’t it just a few hours ago that he was giving Scott advice on how to help him get back on her good side?  ‘Fool around with best friend and completely disregard existence of girlfriend’ is hardly a fool-proof method.

But when he looks over at Scott again, things suddenly seem far less black and white.  Scott’s smiling at him and there’s a warm glow in his eyes that almost, despite the world crashing down around them, looks content.  Like as long as he’s got Stiles by his side, maybe things are going to be okay.  And as Stiles stares back at Scott, he thinks that maybe they will be.  Because if Scott cares about him so much; if Scott believes in him enough to put so much faith in him, then maybe Stiles does have a reason to start believing in himself again.  With the way Scott’s looking at him right now, he doesn’t really feel like a failure at all. 

If he’s the one keeping Scott anchored, maybe Scott’s the one setting him free.


End file.
